


Behind Closed Doors

by cadeira



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M, Sexual Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-16
Updated: 2008-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadeira/pseuds/cadeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doors do not always hold pleasant surprises for Wilson. But for House they obviously do. Cliché alarm for inappropriate use of medical supply closets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [info]get_house_laid  
> Prompt: 241. "What the hell did we just do?"

Philanthropic as he might appear at the first glance, there is a group of people which, for the love of properly capped pens, Wilson just couldn't stand. There were actually many kinds of people Wilson couldn't stand but only one specific group he would work himself up over in public.  
He hated IRS agents. "I simply don't like them."  
"Oh, come off it. Everyone hates IRS agents. You're not special in that one," House had scoffed when Wilson had been about to start into a rant about unacceptable invasions of his private life and abuse of power in his particular case.  
"Come to think of it, I actually liked Harold Crick," Wilson admitted after a short moment of contemplation.  
"Everyone liked Harold Crick, he is a self-sacrificing hero. That you like him is not special either."  
"Maybe it's not the people really, it's the job they're doing I despise."  
"Well, be glad you don't have to do it then. Believe it or not, some people don't like doctors."  
Wilson had finally broken into a grin then.  
"Well," he had drawled. "You especially can't blame them, can you?"  
House had only obtained the information that Wilson didn't like IRS agents because he had been with him when four days ago a particularly malicious specimen of that profession with a bad cold had quashed down two attempts of Wilson trying to get straight some details on his marital status. For some reasons that lay absolutely beyond Wilson something had gotten badly mixed up on his last tax declaration, resulting in an additional claim of several hundred dollars.  
"Well," House had drawled in the same fashion Wilson did just a few minutes ago. "You can't blame them. Now, can you? I have always wondered how you manage to stay on top of things," House had closed his comment as they made their way through the corridors of the Plainsboro tax authority.  
Delicate things like tax pleas weren't handled over the counter, so they had been stuck in a dull waiting area surrounded only by closed doors and excruciatingly ugly abstract paintings that resembled something Jackson Pollock would have knocked up with two wax crayons. And a ruler. With two broken arms.  
Bland men and women with bunches of keys the size of grocery bags scurried out of their own offices to other doors. Not without properly locking their own dens before of course, because some of the claimants might want to sneak into the rooms full of dreary potplants and yellowed computer equipment out of the stone age to steal the tax data of Annie's Flower Shop around the corner. When Wilson had dared to knock at one of the doors because his appointment was supposed be twenty minutes ago, he had earned a snotty "Wait a sec!" from a man on the other side of the door.  
When he had finally been allowed to enter the office of his case handler forty minutes after his original appointment the man was stubborn, obtuse and gave the overall impression that he had to deal with furtive criminals and frauds on a daily basis and that Wilson didn't constitute an exception. What was more, the guy had sneezed on Wilson while handing over papers to sign. That didn't lift Wilson's sentiment towards IRS agents as, admittedly, the the tax issues had been cleared up in his favor but it also had earned him the sniffles.

***

Wilson was one of those people who, when having a cold, tried to "spare their voice". He barely spoke, gestured a lot to make himself understood, refused any form of alcohol or coffee and consumed ridiculous amounts of chicken soup. All of which were actions so excessively cautious and housewifely they annoyed and at the same time amused House.  
The reason why House had went with Wilson to the tax authority in the first place had for a change nothing to do with delighting in mischief or any other intentions of mocking his friend. That they liked hanging around each other was no secret and the hospital staff, the part of the staff that cared anyway, was used to the ill-assorted couple as it is: Dr. Smarty Pants and his companion.  
The past three weeks however had been like the two of them were glued together on the hip. Not that it had been so much different before they had discovered that love between men could be so much more than brotherly. But even Marco had asked whether one of them had changed their specialty so they could hang out together. That had earned the pharmacist the most tender "Shut up!" he'd ever gotten from House.  
House, in the middle of choosing his new fellows, obviously didn't feel obliged to take care of Wilson and his cold. And surely Wilson didn't expect House to turn into the loving husband anytime soon. For House it was probably enough sacrifice that he had to race slalom around the hankies in his own apartment without complaining. At least the whole thing came in handy for cracking jokes at Wilson's expense. He just couldn't hold them in.  
"Shall I fetch the _big_ thermometer?" Or the latest "Meet me at the closet down the floor at four sharp and I'll deliver you from the germs." House dealed out his lewd promises like a meter maid parking tickets. That day at work Wilson was still hoarse and with that basically mute. Or so House believed.

   
***

When House arrived at the concerted place, the door of the fourth floor medical supply closet stood open so that a wide sland of light fell into the else dark room. He stepped in and caught sight of a white coat bent over. Wilson was obviously about to retrieve something from a lower shelf.  
House grinned to himself, swiftly shut the door and turned the deadbolt. "No need to sack the hospital's supply. I got everything we need with me," House said by way of greeting. He rummaged around in his pocket and then waggled the little tube and a condom wrapper in his hands in the air a few times only to notice that the closet was now pitch black and that he could not even see his own hand before his eyes.  
He deposited the items on a nearby rack. Wilson had turned around and House felt him stand very close. A faint "Ehr," was all that Wilson brought out before House covered his mouth with a firm hand. "Hush! I saw Number 6 prancing about. I wouldn't mind him joining us sometime." House drew nearer to the other man and in a soft tone, one he would only allow himself when being alone with Wilson, he murmured into his ear, "But it's probably way too early for these kinds of spice-ups anyway."  
He bit softly into Wilson's ear who drew in a sharp breath.  
"You turn me on, you know that? Even when you're a walking snot-rag and can't talk," House whispered.  
He nibbled from the ear to the neck and sent goosebumps all over the body he was caressing.  
"But sometimes I prefer you silent anyway," House said.  
Although a little surprised but at the same time pleased by the complete lack of protest which this remark resulted in, House started to unbuckle Wilson's belt. That on the other hand resulted in a reaction House had not anticipated at all. His hands were grasped and hold firm as if to stop him from further actions. Wilson scooted away several feet only to stumble backwards into a rack.  
"Oh, don't be a spoilsport," House admonished. "I promised you to make you better. No kisses for the Princess Bride though or I´ll be just as germ-ridden as you are."  
He approached Wilson again, swatted away the protesting hands lightly and tightened his grip at the belt. He undid it and spinned around the man in his hands. Although he couldn't recall Wilson ever wearing pants which could be so easily disposed of if needed, he really wasn't in the mood to care and shoved them down further. Deliberately guiding his hand into the briefs to find a mildly interested ecrection, he pressed his groin hard into Wilson from behind and stroked the cock lazily.  
"I'm going to spoil you and fuck you very slowly, the way you like it. How about that," House inquired already somewhat ragged-breathed.  
Wilson reacted instantly and House could feel the erection harden. He made short shrift of his own pants and one tube-clicking and wrapper-ripping moment later he was covering his cock with lube and slid a slick finger slowly into Wilson. The burning sensation caused Wilson to shiver but he pressed against the touch. A second finger joined the first, and this time House found the small nub inside and the man bent down before him let out a muffled moan. He was adapting and opening himself more and more.  
Then House added a third finger and as he felt Wilson spreading his legs wider he took the hint and placed his cock at the entrance. He pushed in very slowly but all the way inside. Wilson was clinging on to the rack and must have placed his head onto one of his arms as all audible reactions House could hear were extremely muffled like someone was talking into a pillow.  
House started thrusting more deeply and after a while he took Wilson's erection into his right hand, stroking in time to his thrusts and steadying himself at the wall with his other hand. Under him Wilson arched but still refused to make any more articulate noises than the constant but muted moans. After some minutes House sped up his rhythm a little as he felt first signs of his thigh weaken from the effort of upright-standing sex. His eyes slid shut when his insides started to sizzle and the urge to pound even harder into to the body bent down in front of him overcame him. His hips surged forward one last time and a loud gasp erupted from his lips as he came. Panting he hold on to his partner letting ebb away the last waves of his climax. House was about to recover and being the dear caring friend he could be if he thought it would pay off later, just wanted to help Wilson finish off when someone outside pressed down the door handle of the closet. This was followed by a knock.  
***

"House, are you in there?" Wilson's hushed and croaky voice came muted but clearly audible from the other side of the door. All that House's orgasm-buzzed brain could have come up with at that moment was "But, I´m already in," but he dismissed that answer because it somehow didn't make much sense in this situation.  
"Wilson?" he whispered a bit troubled over the shoulder into supposedly-Wilson's ear.  
"Ehrm. No, sorry," was the reply of a voice that distinctively didn't sound like that of someone with a cold. House blinked.  
Nobody saw of course that he blinked in confusion but he gave a rather good impression of someone who believed that he had just fucked his wits out of himself. It was a shame really that it was so dark in the closet so not even the man he had just had it off with was able to see the befuddlement on House's face.  
"What the hell did we just do?" the man under him whispered.  
"I don't know but hell might be just the word," he whispered back.  
A short triad knock, followed by rattle on the doorknob.  
"House. Is that you in there?"  
"Ehr, yeah," House shouted.  
There was a frustrated groan from the man House originally had assumed was Wilson. Then this Wilson had the nerve to call out to the Wilson on the other side of the door, "Just... wait a sec." House slipped out, stepped back wearily and fumbled for the switch. As it clicked the following things happened at the same time: Kutner pulled up his pants and swiveled around only to glance up at his boss in a sheepish but complacent way. House's befuddlement was replaced by annoyance, surprise and interest, though probably not in that order. And on the opposite side of the door Wilson started to calculate the different scenarios that may have ended up with House being locked up in a medical supply closet and hoped they included neither jackknifes nor forbidden substances.

"Why did you answer him," Kutner asked. "He wouldn't have known that we´re in here."  
"We? In here? I thought you were him," House hissed. "You keep interrupting all sorts of moments at inappropriate times and don´t stop me when I´m screwing you?"  
"I was intrigued," Kutner replied.  
"You were what? Now I am intrigued, too."  
"Well, what are we going to do now?"  
"Are you afraid Wilson might bite your head off?"  
"No. That´s probably more your style. Are you now going to fire me?" House couldn't believe that Kutner didn't even manage to set up a bashful expression at this.  
"Wipe that unnerving grin off your face and come on." He made a vague hand gesture that conveyed a command to clean up the mess they had made. Fortunately, the closet provided all its guests with an extra large trashcan so every evidence could be easily disposed of.  
"House? Are you alone in there? Why have you locked the door? Is something wrong?" the husky door asked.  
"No. Everything's just peachy." The men in the closet both set up facial expressions that tried to disguise every hint of their preceding deed. They took one last checking glance at each other and then nodded as if they were gladiators readying themselves for the amphitheater.  
House unlocked the door, yanked it open forcefully and quickly stepped out of the room.  
"Hey!" Wilson made a startled step backwards. Kutner emerged cautiously behind House and looked in every directions but Wilson's. Wilson eyed both with perplexity and was rendered speechless for reasons that had nothing to do with a sore throat.  
An agonizing moment of silence passed until Kutner did pluck up the courage to say, "I'll go and, erm, do the blood work for the patient then." And with that he fled from the scene of the crime.  
The first words Wilson found were, "You have a patient?"  
"Nope." House slowly started to walk back into the direction of his office.  
"Then what were you doing in there?" Wilson took up pursuit.  
"I mistook him for you and did him. I just came when you interrupted us."  
"You're not going to tell me what this was all about, are you?"  
"I just did," he offered.  
And Wilson took that as a "No!" and dropped the topic of secret closet meetings.  
"Fine, so don't tell me," he said and added a spiky sniff.  
"There are things known and things unknown and in between are the doors." Over the course of the years House had claimed to have had the most awkward Close Encounters of the Third Kind in the medical supply closets. He had made up most of the stories to entertain Wilson, of course. Most, not all, House reminded himself with a small shudder.  
"I don't like him," Wilson proclaimed.  
"I do."  
"You do? I somehow foresaw that you were going to connect with a new team. But this was kind of fast. Why him?"  
"He might offer undreamed-of possibilities." Wilson wrinkled his forehead in suspicion but thought better of inquiring any further. "And what about my remedy then? Deliverance from the germs and all that."  
"I thought you didn't approve of workplace naughtaminations."  
"It think it may be just what the doctor ordered."

~~ The End ~~


End file.
